


Conflux

by op-sheepy (opsheepy)



Series: The Devil Child and the White Monster [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Family, Flevance (One Piece), Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ohara (One Piece), Protectiveness, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opsheepy/pseuds/op-sheepy
Summary: When Nico Robin heard about the tragedy of the White City, she felt compelled to check it for herself. She didn't really expect to find the clever but angry little boy who managed to escape.And Law. He wasn't sure whether susceptibility to pareidolia was a symptom of trauma. Until of course, the face started talking to him and then he was certain he was probably hallucinating.OrRobin and Law meet before he joins the Donquixote Pirates. Friendship ensues.
Relationships: Nico Robin & Trafalgar D. Water Law
Series: The Devil Child and the White Monster [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000128
Comments: 46
Kudos: 76





	1. Remainder

Corpses are stiff. Well, until they aren't and then they're kinda mushy. Also their breath stinks... Actually they stink in general but especially their breath. It's fascinating in a way, witnessing things that his parents taught him. Rigor mortis, bloating, putrefaction. Different stages of death and decay.

If his stomach had content, he'd probably be retching but small mercies he supposes. Speaking of, idly he wonders if it counts that he's actually lumped with the bodies of his enemies because of course not even the corpses of his people can escape that hell. They think it's contagious so it's only natural for them to burn the bodies there. What they're trying to cart out are their own. Ironic how he'd been saved by the things that tried to kill him.

But he doesn't have to look at the rotting face of someone he might have known. His people who fought hard and, with satisfaction, he's glad they took a lot of them down. He'll do the same of course. He'll paint the world in the same colors as the last days of Flevance. Of orange, gray, and red. Fire. Soot. Blood.

As he imagines the sight, suddenly the corpses are on fire and grabbing him. Hands pulling and tugging his clothes, his hair, while everything burns. Despite it all, he finds it funny so he laughs. His vision blurs then nothing.

When he opens his eyes, it's bright. The ground in front of him comes into focus as he fights to keep his eyes open. It's dangerous to sleep while on the run though it has equally saved and gotten him almost killed a few times. The last had been when he was thrown overboard for being mistaken as a corpse that got accidentally taken with the rest of the bodies. He was lucky that they just kicked him into the ocean in their panic instead of making sure he was dead or just outright burning him.

He looks around trying to get his bearings. He doesn't know how long he passed out but judging by the brightness of the sun and the length of his shadow, the last thing he remembers seeing before his eyes drifted shut, it couldn't have been that long. Still around noon.

Perhaps he's near the pirate base in the middle of the dump. It's hard to tell. Everywhere it's just piles of junk. He keeps pushing his legs to move forward and his eyes to stay open. The promise he would make his family, his country. He would take a lot of them down before his time runs out. He revisits the beginnings of a plan in his head.

_ First need to find those pirates. _

_ Are you lost little boy? _

Every turn has been looking pretty similar to the last as he tries to fight his exhaustion and hunger. Perhaps he is lost. But that doesn't matter. He will find it soon enough just need to keep pushing forward. One leg in front of the other.

_ Pardon my intrusion... but you look like you're about to collapse. _

_ Doesn't matter. Left. Right. Onwards. Don't fall asleep. Not yet. _

_ Do you... need some directions? _

He pauses. He'd been hearing things inside his head for a while now. Mostly it's just him talking himself through what has to be done. But... there's been this other voice since he woke up. He's also pretty sure he's been seeing faces on things. Watching him. He rubs his eyes and slaps his cheeks. Now isn't the time to be day dreaming or succumbing to hallucinations. Resolutely he keeps walking, very slightly more awake.

_ You aren't hearing voices if that's what you think. Or maybe you are but I'm relatively certain I'm not a voice inside your head. _

He glares at nothing in particular and mumbles at the voice to shut up. He better try to get some sleep once he finds that base. Idly, he wonders if delusions are supposed to sound amused but decides that he'll ponder it more when he isn't too tired to care.

He's about to take his next step but a face pops up from the ground. His foot hovers and he blinks at it.

"Hello."

It's the voice. But it's not inside of his head and its from the face. From the ground. It shocks him enough to take a step back and end up sitting staring at the thing with his mouth open.

It chuckles.

Now he has something to glare at, he doesn't hold back. Perhaps any other time, before everything that went wrong went terrible, he might have had a different reaction from seeing a face pop out from right beneath his foot. But right then all he could feel was that he was tired and irritable and just about ready to to ask what it thought was funny before possibly stomping at it.

A sharp remark was at the tip of his tongue but the voice cuts him off. 

"I'm sorry... Are you alright?" And no he wasn't alright. Hadn't been in a long while but there isn't any amusement in that tone only earnestness that for some reason made it clear that they were only asking about his fall. As though they knew.

He bites his tongue but looks on in suspicion. He's sure that the look he is giving is enough to convey that he wants to know whatever it was the thing wants from him.

"I wonder... I have no real purpose in approaching you," hesitantly, "I simply wanted to talk, I suppose."

At his blank stare, the voice continues, "I know you're from the White City and that you're escaping."

Suddenly, he's more awake, every muscle he can feel tense, mind working hard to think of his next move. Does he run now? Does he attack then run? Will it matter?

But the voice as though hearing his thoughts, which he's not entirely certain it couldn't do, is quick to reassure him that they have no intention of alerting anyone. It does nothing for him, though. He's learned that lesson hard.

"It wouldn't benefit either of us. We are quite the same, yo--" At that he couldn't help snapping.

"I see, mysterious face from the ground. Are you also fleeing from mass extermination, have people hunting you down like a wild animal, lost everything you've ever known and cared for on top of suffering from constant pain from a terminal disease which you would die from in less than three years?" He hates how his voice becomes tremulous by the middle of his exclamation despite his sarcastic tone. At the end of his rant, his chest is heaving and his fists are clenched. Discreetly he tries to loosen them and forces his face into a scowl instead of whatever the wobbly thing his mouth was doing. 

Silence. Good. "Well, it's been nice talking with you." He gives a smile, all teeth, as he stands up and dusts himself off.

"Three out of five." The voice calls out, again with some amusement.

He blinks. Despite himself he looks at the face with something akin to hope.

They must've picked up on it because they hurriedly explain, "I'm not from Flevance so I don't have the terminal illness." A beat. "I do have a bounty though."

Not knowing what to say to that, he blurts out the question that's been nagging at him throughout the bizarre interaction. 

"Why are you a face on the ground?"

And it's the face's turn to blink at him. 

"This is my Devil Fruit ability. It allows to me to grow any part of my body on any surface." 

He has a vague idea of what Devil Fruits are from a book he has read and from his lessons. He waits for the face to elaborate as while they may have answered the 'how' he specifically asked for 'why' and there's usually just the one reason.

"I'm keeping my distance." And there it was. His fists clench and he glares for the last time. He'd heard enough.

Hands pop out before he could fully move away. They gesture placatingly and the voice soothes, "I know you aren't contagious." The arms are outstretched seemingly an invitation for him to touch. He ignores them.

"We are in a similar predicament, as I have mentioned. Perhaps you would understand the habits formed from caution." He does. Another pause as his reaction is weighed. "Also, there are grenades strapped on you."

Ok, that's fair, he supposes. "Why did you show up? What do you want from me?" There really isn't anything someone like him can offer to anyone. If they're telling the truth and they're also being hunted down, he could just tell people they're there especially if they have a bounty. He points this out, getting a bit impatient.

"Hm. I wonder. I hoped you wouldn't."

"Hope gets people killed." He replies viciously. 

"Well, I also happen to know that you can't really approach anyone just as readily, can you?" A pointed glance at his skin which has him unconsciously rubbing his arm. He starts walking, resolved to ignore the nuisance. He doesn't have to listen to it. The face pops up on any near surface, any piece of garbage, when he gets too far.

"I hoped what you have against the government would be greater than your mistrust of me." The face has materialized on an empty can of paint to his right.

"Your skin marks you. When someone sees you and figures it out, you'll be hunted down."

And that's it. He doesn't even know why he'd let the thing talk as long as he has. He kicks the can away with as much force as he could muster given his exhausted state. He must've been sluggish because the face disappears before his shoe could make contact, only to reappear on the ground behind him, continuing without pause. 

"For me, my face, my name would suffice. That's all someone needs especially with my bounty." He doesn't understand where this thing, person, is going with this. Why they couldn't just go straight to the point. He thinks they're being reluctant but why waste his time?

"I honestly don't know but I felt the need to approach you." The voice is wistful and he fights the urge to turn. He doesn't have the time. Need to find those pirates.

"What is your name?"

That gets him to turn his head and stare blankly.

"My name is Nico Robin and I..." His brows furrow. Why give their name that's supposedly enough to get them hunted? "My home was called Ohara." He turns around fully and looks at the face. They seem to be gauging his reaction but there shouldn't be anything there. He recognizes neither the name nor the place.

The face, which so far has remained cool and at times amused, looked oddly relieved then disappointed. "We are similar except right now I know more about you. And you nothing about me it would seem." The look directed towards him was almost soft, filled with... something. 

"I... I was drawn to Flevance. I had heard what happened. Really happened." A faraway look before those eyes are drawn back to his.

"Then I just happened to catch sight of you. I waited for a good time to approach and I apologize for doing so heedlessly. I have long since abandoned that habit but you... I..." Another pause. Their eyes lower and they bite their lip as though to keep themselves from saying something. 

"I have to go but I'll be here next week at around the same time."

Just like that, the face is gone before he had time to fully process everything. He calls out, not loudly, but there is no reply. He still feels a shadow of a gaze on his back but can't be sure if it's just him being paranoid or tired. Heck, he's not sure everything that happened wasn't just a fever dream.

He thinks about the strange encounter all the way to his destination. He is numb but when he thinks back to her mentioning that they are similar, he feels a twinge in his chest that he resolutely ignores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got around to posting this. Of course the first fic I post for this fandom would be about my two favorite characters.
> 
> This will be a platonic/family relationship.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think. Also made a Tumblr account for writing so you could go talk to me there as well. :)  
>  op-sheepy.tumblr.com


	2. Impetus

The corners of her mouth are turned down. She knows she shouldn't be there. It was too risky and wasn't part of her original plan.

_No one is born in this world to be alone._

She is seated eyes closed and leaning against a slab of scrap metal inside a hollow mound of various junk. It's a good location. Out of sight and inaccessible. A place she found a week ago when she had her talk with the sad little boy.

Her lips quirk up a little. Ok, he was more angry than sad and, really, more tired than angry. It was a wonder how he kept on going despite keeling over several times.

_Someday you will meet friends..._

It's been around seven years yet Saul's words still echo in her head in her moments of weakness. Seven years of betrayals and backstabbing and there she was, recalling the words while waiting. Gave her name, showed her face, even volunteered the fact that she had a bounty.

All she has, the flimsy hope that he wouldn't rat her out. For what? She isn't sure.

_Go and live with them, Robin!_

She couldn't help but chuckle a little. Of all the people, he looked just about the most unfriendly little boy there ever was. Not that he could be blamed, of course, with all he had been through. Her general ideas surrounding the event sound bad enough, who even knows the specifics of the hell he crawled out of. And crawl he did, she had witnessed first hand.

Friendship would be the last thing on his list of priorities. And really, it shouldn't even be on hers either.

But that hope, those words, fleeting, flimsy as they may be, had kept her going. Kept her rowing that boat. Kept her moving her feet. Looking always forward. Had always been the last thread when her courage fled and her will to go on frayed.

The part of her that held on to that hope should have died a few betrayals ago but then she saw him. The lone survivor who had nothing. Had lost everything. Didn't really have the ability to gain anything.

She had heard the story of his home. The plans for eradication when the surrounding countries, with the aid of the World Government, decided to quarantine the citizens. And wasn't it familiar? Despite the holes even in the truth, the core of the story remained. A country to be erased, the people to be wiped out. No survivors intended. How convenient that they had been dying regardless.

Feeling particularly whimsical and especially masochistic, she sought out Flevance. Felt compelled to bear witness, to record the actual history even just in her memory. In a way, it gave her a sense of purpose. And if there was a part of her whispering about survivors and how they wouldn't turn her away--wouldn't be able to--it was only pragmatism.

She may not be able to believe in friendship anymore but she understands mutualism. She remembers thinking that surely these hypothetical people would find her talents useful and, being in similar situations, the chance of betrayal though never gone, can go both ways. She could gain a possible ally, someone she's never had. Someone who could watch her back, who she'd allow to, because while they could metaphorically stab her in the back, she'd be holding the very same knife to theirs. And she had learned to be faster. It's all the experience, really.

That was what she told herself when she decided to go. Being always on the run, she really had nothing to lose. She had no current commitment to anyone and she couldn't be any more at risk. She would check the place, gather information, then leave.

It had been easy enough to get to the surrounding area. By the time she got there, all the way to the North Blue, the war was over already and they had been cleaning up. Everyone wore masks and had full body suits. They did make sure to check for fever and to ask people to show parts of their skin--the arms, legs, the back--then everything was covered again. It conveniently offset the presence of the Marines.

She didn't get to see the inside. The borders were very strict and it wasn't a risk worth taking though she had seen a glimpse of iron fences and the outline of the buildings. Even in ruin, Flevance was beautiful. Despite this, she hadn't been interested in seeing more. She'd had enough from the corpses littering what she could see of the streets. War is never pretty and it made her think that it was almost a blessing the Buster Call had been relatively swift and absolutely destructive. No blood and carnage. Just fire and explosions.

The soldiers transported dead bodies outside, stripping them partially to check if they weren't infected. By the number of corpse piles, Flevance seemed to have fought very well. Not like they had much of a choice. Sealed and cut off from supplies, they had been sick, dying, and starving to death. It was needlessly cruel and wholly unnecessary.

There was a lot about the whole affair that didn't make sense to her. Everything sounded like a convenient excuse. Flevance was dying anyway. Why waste supplies, risk soldiers? Flevance fought back but it was many against one. Suppression should have been enough. Attrition more logical. Yet all the surrounding countries resorted to genocide? To exterminate an entire population, it didn't just sound extreme, it sounded fishy.

Then she had caught sight of the riches being carried out and disinfected. Things were a little more clearer after that. The illustrious White City, envy of all, and what an excuse to go in and just take. The fear hadn't been enough to suppress greed.

She stayed for a few more days. Watching them. Studying. Finding out the politics of the countries involved.

And that was when she had first seen him, purely by chance for he was a slight thing, cautiously skittering beneath everyone's notice. He must have already gotten out for some time, maybe even before she arrived judging by his movements.

She actually found it kind of funny. The lone survivor, at least as far as she could tell, is a little kid. She watched him crawl among the piles of corpses. He stole meals from under the soldiers' noses, taking advantage of their limited field of vision with the protective masks on. He huddled with the dead bodies at night to seek warmth. He would listen in on the soldiers' conversations intently.

Immediately, it was apparent that he was very clever. When they were segregating the bodies to ship to their respective countries, his choice of which vessel to board had been deliberate. She followed him, intrigued.

When he was discovered and thrown overboard, she had worried that he might have died, arms unconsciously crossing but she caught herself in time. She wouldn't have been able to help without giving herself away.

 _You also have no reason to._ She had to remind herself. Luckily, he hadn't needed help at all, in the end.

He had kept himself still, pretending to be dead, before clinging to the side of the boat, climbing back up, and hiding among the corpses again.

Stowed away, he had watched the soldiers carefully, unknowingly being watched by her himself. When they docked at Spider Miles, he waited for one of the soldiers to be alone and took him out in one of the most creative uses of rope and leverage she had ever seen seen.

He then proceeded to strip the man of all his weapons and valuables. The soldiers were already suspicious of a rat from all the missing bits of food. Spider Miles was notorious for being a thieves den so it was better for them to dismiss the event as theft instead of adding suspicion and remembering that extra body they threw overboard that may not have been dead.

The valuables he threw in the ocean, understandable as no one would exchange those from him anyway. The weapons he had kept. Strapped the grenades all over his body and stashed the knife somewhere. She only had an inkling on where he was headed. The soldiers had been wary of a pirate base on one of their stops and she had seen him checking out the map. What she couldn't figure out was his plan. With how serious he looked, she thought he would have been more inclined to make himself explode in that barge full of corpses with his enemies.

She watched him head purposefully to the dump. Watched him collapse a couple of times. Watched him catch a few minutes of sleep before rousing himself and pushing forward. So much different from her and yet much the same. The fire in his eyes, not a trace of the sadness she often found in her younger self when she looked in a mirror. She had been angry but it was buried in crushing grief. This boy was the opposite. It was an anger that consumes and yet he manages to keep it at bay. Like a spring very tightly coiled. Honestly, she found it a bit terrifying.

Unable to help herself, she had called his attention. And that conversation? It was a poor impression but really, who would have been able to make a good impression on someone like him? It was nice, though. She should have felt guilty at that, finding solace in someone's misery because of the similarity to her own, but if there was guilt, it was overshadowed. After all, what were the odds of people like them meeting?

They talked. At one point he had looked at her hopefully almost in wonder when there was a possibility that she might have been a fellow survivor from Flevance. She had felt bad dashing his hopes regarding that.

It was odd. The unbidden desire to offer every comfort that was never afforded to her. That she'd always longed for.

So she returned. Something very risky, revisiting the same place. Not at all what she had planned. Then again, he wasn't the survivor she had expected to meet--and really that's acknowledging the really low chance of having a survivor. And a sick child no less, powerless and dying yet outwitting everyone in spite of it all. If she hadn't observed him, she would have hardly believed he made it on his own despite her own history.

Still she exercised caution. Eyes everywhere. Checking everything ahead of time. She needed to be able to run if he did decide to sell her out.

She isn't even sure if he is still alive and did not succumb to his sickness or if he just got gunned down anyway despite all his efforts. Would he even bother to meet with her again? Because why would he? He could just as easily have ignored and forgotten her, inconsequential as their meeting was in the grand scheme of things. She shouldn't expect him to feel the same draw she does to him or even bother trying to learn about her.

But he does arrive, much to her surprise, alone and on time. The expression on his face is the same, tired and apathetic, but everything else is different. He is battered. The white patches on his skin joined with bruises of different shades. He is also limping with flecks of dried blood all over, including his face.

What had he been up to? In all her time watching him, he had been too cautious to be caught. She couldn't have imagined seeing him beaten up and repeatedly by the look of things. Dead and shot, sure, because that was the standard procedure for dealing with his people. No one would dare touch them after all.

The difference from the boy she had last seen was stark. Now his clothes were torn and filthy--well, filthier--mostly with blood and grime. It made his appearance last time seem pristine.

He is supposed to be in constant pain from his illness. She had seen him hiss and writhe in agony when he ventured to prod at his skin, eyes tearing up despite his best effort to hold a scream back by biting his lips hard enough to bleed. He had done it until he was satisfied that his reaction was just a wince. Repeated beating on top of that? She wonders who could be capable of such sadistic cruelty. It would have been kinder to just shoot the boy dead.

He approaches one of the many heaps of garbage and climbs on top. He doesn't look around or at least tries not to make it seem obvious but she can see his eyes are roaming around, scanning surfaces, his hands clenching and unclenching.

He sits crossed-leg and looks out at a distance, exhaling a tired sigh. There is silence which she contemplates on breaking but he speaks before her, barely audible, a soft exhale she would have missed had she not grown an ear near him immediately as he sat.

"Tell me about Ohara."

A bit stunned, she can only blink (the single eye observing him). Does he know she's there? She is certain that her eye and ear are in places outside of his vision. There is a pause as he holds himself tensely and then he sighs and loses all tension, shoulders slumping slightly. She had to blink at that again.

Was he expecting her without knowing for sure she was there? Has he been doing that since she'd been gone? Talk then expect someone to answer?

She finds herself speaking before she could even process things fully.

"What do you want to know?"

He jumps but recovers fast enough, hands lowering from their defensive stance. He sits back down, adapting his original position, keeps his head still while his eyes dart around until they land on where her lips materialized. Was he... being considerate? Trying not to draw attention to her in case anyone was watching?

There is an incredulous look in his eyes as though he couldn't quite believe she was actually real. Which is completely understandable, really.

When it appears he'd recovered enough, she materializes her face beside him. He shifts a bit then answers.

"Anything."

 _Nothing_. His shrug seems to say. He moves his gaze away and stares out in the open.

Outwardly he's projecting calm, or at least trying to, but his other hand--the hand that's away from her face which he probably thinks she can't see, except she has more than one pair of eyes out--is clenching tightly on his shirt.

She ponders his question. She hasn't talked about Ohara with anyone for a long time. What does she say? Does he want to know how it was destroyed? To vindicate his anger? Will it remind him of his home?

If he is seeking comfort, she does not know how to be comforting. There had been scant examples of that in her life.

Despite all the internal turmoil, her mouth opens and the words spill out.

"There was a tree, gigantic and ancient. It grew in the middle of the island and inside, the largest collection of books you could ever imagine... " She is surprised at the softness of her voice, the reverence in her tone.

She talks about the books, the library. About the scholars and their specialties. The library's organization system and the debates that would last until the evenings.

Through it his eyes grow wider and his hands unclench until they are flat on the ground and he is almost leaning slightly over her, almost enraptured despite his efforts to remain unaffected by sitting up straighter when he catches himself.

How long has it been since she's had a casual conversation without having to put her guard up? A part of her is screaming at her about having learned her lesson. Another part, the one that won out, tells him about the tiny creek where the little frogs play while she reads. The feeling was like taking a deep inhale after a holding your breath for a long time.

Neither of them felt the need to mention that what she is saying is not how Ohara is depicted anywhere. She just knows she doesn't have to defend it as she previously would have when she still trusted people enough and cared to share her story to put the truth out there.

He doesn't pry. Only listens with a glazed faraway look.

He asks questions every now and then. Trivial things, like the color of the rooms, the number of books or the layout of the island and how big it was. He seemed really taken with the giant library. And the little frogs.

"Was there anything about medicine?" She hums an agreement.

"Hundreds filled with ancient procedures and a catalog of every disease known to man." The wonder on his face gives her a sense of pride she chooses to examine later.

Hesitantly, mumbles, "Comic books?"

She has to bite back her smile and answers solemnly, "All books are precious troves of knowledge so why wouldn't there be?"

When she is done speaking and he has run out of questions, a comfortable silence passed, before she ventures a question of her own.

"You don't have to answer if you don't feel like it. I'm merely curious. Where were you headed the last time we met?"

She regrets it immediately when the shadows returns to his face. Of course they both knew there was only one point of interest in the dumpsite. What she really wants to know is why. Especially with his current beaten up state.

His eyes shift to her and after a few moments, he smiles that manic smile. Tells her about his plan. Of the pirates he wants to join and his remaining lifespan. Of a bastard called Corazon who kept beating him up but would soon get what was coming to him. Of the world burning down as he laughs.

The sadness comes but only when she searches through her own numbness because she does understand. What does she have to be sad about though? She is surprised that it involves the thought of him being gone. Another thing she chooses to examine later.

"I'm going to destroy everything I can before I die."

He is looking at her and she realizes that he is waiting for a reaction.

She thinks of his low life expectancy and devil fruits and hope, false and true.

She thinks of Saul and of friendship being out there and not being alone anymore. Of dreams. But what does that mean to someone who is certain of their death?

Instead of saying any of what she thinks, she shifts her line of sight and faces forward.

"Do you know about Poneglyphs?"

His brows furrow in confusion, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Poneglyphs are massive slabs of stone containing writings with ancient text..."

She tells him about their connection to Ohara and ignores the blatant interest in his stare when she mentions the promise of destruction said to be contained within them.

"The scholars of my island were studying them to uncover the true history of the world. And..." She shifts her eyes again to look directly into his, "it is my dream to find them and accomplish what they weren't able to."

He looked incredulous at the idea.

"You can potentially harness a superpower capable of causing destruction against the world." _that wronged you_ , was heavily implied by the look he was giving. "And you want to discover some truth?"

That shouldn't really be funny but his affronted look and the grumbling way he says it has her stifling her giggles. That wasn't why she was mentioning it though so she ignores his question and continues.

"Sometimes," _when things are too much_ , and when are they ever not? "the dream doesn't feel like my own. Just something I cling to, to be able to keep moving." _Living_.

She must've sounded melancholic because he stares more intently and quips, "Must be nice, to still have a dream."

They are both surprised by the sincerity which he likely didn't intend to let out.

"Sometimes," she replies softly. And they become quiet again.

"Dreams are useless..." His voice is muffled a bit as he draws his knees, resting his arms and head on top, a far away look on his face. "To someone like me."

She wouldn't have been able to stop the pang of sadness that washed over her even if she tried. And she shouldn't get involved, really she shouldn't, because what was she even trying to accomplish? What could she? But the words still come out.

"Out there the world is vast with many unknown things. There are abilities beyond one's imagination like my own..." Those golden eyes catching the light of the sunset shouldn't be so sad and accepting. The anger was better. At least they had fight. Life. "Perhaps out there is a way to prolong your life." And because she of all people knew the cruelty and danger inherent in hope, "Though I wouldn't count on it. From my experience, things out there tend to be more of the kind to actively work on life the other way."

The scoff she earns is almost a laugh and she smiles, relieved.

They watch the rest of the sunset together in companionable silence. When it's done, he stands up, dusts himself off and mentions he'll keep hanging around the Donquixote pirates until they take him in.

She hums an acknowledgement.

"So, I'll be staying around here for a while..."

Curious at his tone, she notes his averted eyes, the clenched fist he's hiding in his pocket, the stiff lines of his shoulder. She doesn't stop the grin from forming on her face when she figures it out.

"I also move around and join groups for protection and to earn some money. The one I'm currently working for is operating near this area." They aren't. She dropped the last one when she decided to go to the North Blue though she had been able to do a couple of odd jobs and has been keeping an eye on some prospects since then.

He fidgets and her smile gets wider. "I think I'll be around this area again in three days. I have errands near here." She would need to secure temporary dwellings and make arrangements. Normally, such things would fill her with dread or exhaustion but she finds that she doesn't mind them right now.

He glares at her when he notices her smiling but shuffles a bit before mumbling, “I'm Trafalgaw Law.”

“Nice to meet you, Law.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. I thought I was done with this a few days ago but I added more stuff. Then I realized I added too much and then just removed stuff and... this was originally just 1000 words. Oh well. Thank you very much for taking the time to read. Special thanks to those who left Kudos and comments. I really appreciate it.
> 
> Again, you can also find me on Tumblr: op-sheepy.tumblr.com


	3. Synthesis

He is sitting on a pile of garbage because what else is there to do in a garbage dump? He almost prefers the feeling of being on the run where his mind would be focused on trying to survive. During moments of calm, which never really last, his mind strays to Flevance and he has to force himself to stop, his breath stalling and his heart hammering. Too soon. Too much.

Desperately, he tries to latch onto something else. Before, thinking of his plans would help calm him, reciting the steps in his head like a mantra: join the pirates, destroy things,  _ kill, kill, kill _ . Now, though, his thoughts stray somewhere else. 

To a giant tree bigger than a building, older than anything else alive; to endless rows of books as far as the eye can see; to frogs frolicking to the pattering beat of the rain; and the little girl who loves to read books and listen to scholars argue all day. Slowly, his mind settles and he feels a calmness or something close to it that he hasn't felt in a while, not since everything and not until a quiet afternoon two days ago. Ohara sounded like a guarded memory and he found comfort in the fondness and the longing in her tone. In imagining a home that is also no longer there but was never his.

He thinks of Nico Robin. Despite the solemn air surrounding her, she is still a kid just like him who couldn't possibly be that much older than Buffalo. He scoffs at the comparison. Buffalo is a poor measure for maturity. The bigger kid may be older than him but acts more like an annoying brat. Not a fair assessment at all. Nico Robin is probably more mature than most of the adults he's met in Spider Miles so far, though that really isn't saying much. 

He thinks further back to that surreal first meeting. The one he would have been content to brush off had he not gotten a name, something he couldn't have made up so he asked the pirates the first chance that he could. The ridiculously tall one and the droopy one, Diamante and Trebol, gave him his first introduction to the Devil Child and Ohara.

"Nico Robin? Tired of Corazon beating you up and looking for another buddy, eh? Tough luck! The Devil Child is nothing like you. She's a real monster."

Monster. That was what was shouted at his people as they were gunned down. Ohara the island of devils? Even if it were true, he'd sooner side with devils than the government that purged them.  _ Become a monster than be the same as whatever they're claiming to be. _

"Not only that, she's oceans away in the West Blue. Shame, really. Doffy mentioned having someone like her being useful."

He didn't bother correcting them about that.

"But hey, if you hang around long enough and Corazon doesn't end up killing you, you might meet Doffy and he might take a liking to you. You could be part of the family and you wouldn't need to look for new friends. Beheheh."

He wasn't looking for a friend though and he didn't think she was either but without knowing how to describe it in words, without understanding, he had the answer to the unresolved mystery she presented him with—why she approached him at all, the compulsion—because as soon as he learned about her, he had visited the place again and again even before the week had passed, before the time she had said she would return.

He would whisper a question. Talk out loud. At first, some of the pirates were curious and followed him. They soon dismissed it as the ramblings of a pitiful and damaged child. Between the beatings and everything else.

"Is it true you sank seven warships? Can you really destroy countries?"

He would ask if her motives were aligned with his. Contemplated the idea that she might want to team up. He doesn't really care which group to join as long as he can destroy things. He considered that maybe she approached because she knows he hates the World Government and she probably hates them too. That she's looking for someone to hate them with her. 

"Have you killed anyone? How many?"

He would collect questions in his head and he would go there daily between convincing the pirates to let him join, getting beaten up by Corazon, treating his injuries.

When he'd been forcing moldy bread down his throat, he had wondered if she too had starved and how she coped with it. Did she know which rotten food was the easiest to eat? or the safest? 

His questions then changed bit by bit and he began to think she really might have been someone his mind conjured. To cope. He had always been more interested in anatomy and physiology but his mother would also make sure that he read up on psychology and psychiatry. 

"Law, healing people is holistic. You can repair the body but must not neglect everything else, especially the heart and mind." she would say.  _ What if everything is broken and beyond repair? _

"Do you hate everything too? I mean, you have to too, right?" He had whispered one night, lying down a pile of scraps looking up at the stars, his hat a makeshift pillow. There was no answer, of course, and he thought about how fantastical the odds of meeting someone with a similar background is. Perhaps he had heard or read about her somewhere else and his mind decided to fill in the gaps to construct a defense mechanism.

On the expected day, he didn't bother trying to treat his newly acquired injuries, just limped his way to the top of a garbage mound, weariness weighing him down.

"Tell me about Ohara."

And she did. 

She wasn't a hallucination, bizarre as their communication method may be. When he realized that the day would end along with his reprieve, he almost had a moment of panic. He rambled about the pirates and his plans to stay in the area, something he still berates himself for.

She said she would be back in three days. That would be tomorrow. He isn't looking forward to it but there really isn't much else to do and he could at least admit that she was better company than a pile of garbage or the pirates—not that he needs company.

Something shifts from the corner of his eye and he grabs his knife. Finally.

* * *

He runs as fast as he can. Those pirates would be looking for him soon if they aren't already. He managed to bribe Buffalo into silence but there's a chance that Corazon survived so now he's back to running. He should probably take back that thought about preferring to be on the run.

Despite the trouble he knows he's in, his eyes dart around. She wouldn't be there until tomorrow. He scolds himself. That's not as important as not getting caught. To the port he runs, careful about getting seen but still he couldn't help it. Couldn't help but slow down when he reaches the area where they meet, scanning every surface.

Is she there? Could she see him?  _ Will she help? _

Someone grabs him by the scruff of his neck.

* * *

The first time he met Doflamingo Donquixote he thought the man was huge and not just physically, with a presence so different from his subordinates most of whom don't really seem all too impressive or too smart. He had heard the soldiers talking in hushed whispers about the pirate like the devil himself. Cold and ruthless. Did he look particularly cruel? Yes. In fact, he looked like he would be the type to dance over the bodies of his enemies or make his enemies dance while he slowly kills them. Exactly what he hoped Doflamingo would be.

There is madness reflected in those weirdly shaped sunglasses and when they are pinned on him, he isn't sure how much of what he sees is his own.

Still, despite it all, it was Doflamingo who didn't turn him away or throw him out of a window. Who even reprimanded his subordinates about believing rumors regarding Amber Lead Syndrome. Doflamingo who is currently dangling something suspiciously like hope in front of him. Except when spoken by the man, it sounds more like a promise. As far as people he could pledge his remaining life to, there could be worse.

He listens to Doflamingo talk about luck and devil fruits and making him, a dying boy, his right hand man. He remains silent except to remind the man of his remaining time. He will accept whatever is offered to him and expect nothing at all, neither hope nor despair able to touch him anymore.

He remains wary of Corazon not telling on him,  _ protecting him _ , and resolves to keep an eye on the mad man.

That night, he gets his first decent meal in what feels like forever (He doesn't touch the bread). He gets a chance to clean himself and sleep in an actual bed (It doesn't help him sleep). He lies awake, processing all that happened and their implications. 

* * *

She scans him from head to toe. Which is a weird thing to do since she doesn't have a neck so it's only her eyes moving on a metal beam. 

"I take it they finally accepted you?" She is probably noting the cleaner state of his clothes and the newly applied bandages. 

"Yes. Doflamingo suddenly decided that he wants me to become his right hand man." He sits down, leaning back on an empty crate opposite where her face is.

She looks thoughtful.  _ So it wasn't just him who finds it odd _ . He tells her the story, about stabbing Corazon, getting caught, then suddenly getting welcomed to the 'family'. He's not sure she's aware but she makes a bit of a face at the word. He thinks back to her recollection of Ohara—books, scholars, tree. Thinks back to what she doesn't mention. He feels the need to correct.

"They're not though."

"Hmm. Not what?"

"A family."

Her eyes widen in surprise and he could almost see the question in them so he answers.

"I've only just met them but they're missing things." He isn't sure why they bother being known as one but he doesn't really care either.

When she doesn't say anything, he just continues his retelling.

"He mentioned moving soon. Possibly within the week." He forces himself not to fidget. Not to show anything as he goes on. "Maybe you should join too if you aren't too happy with your current group." This was one of the things he couldn't stop thinking about the night before. He resolutely avoids looking at the expression on her face. "You can think on it first. I'll try to get a feel on Doflamingo though his subordinates already mentioned that he's interested in your abilities." He chances a look and sees her astonishment. Looks away again and waves his hand dismissively, "I won't let them know you're here until you decide so… you can tell me your decision tomorrow."

Silence. He directs a glare at her, about to tell her that she could just say no if she doesn't want to but stops when he sees the small smile she gives him. 

"Alright. I'll think about it." 

He doesn't quite know what to say after that. Thankfully, as if sensing his discomfort, she steers the conversation back to the puzzling behavior of both Donquixote brothers.

"To be sure both have acted strangely. A man of Doflamingo's notoriety wouldn't just choose a random child to be his right hand man. Especially one who doesn't have long to live." She suddenly looks remorseful as though realizing what she just said. He waves her off. No sense feeling guilty about stating a fact. 

"It actually seems more like he's personally invested in you."

He wouldn't know about that so he just shrugs.

"And that brother of his, Corazon. He didn't have a reason to protect you. It would have made more sense for him to let Doflamingo kill you since you said he supposedly can't stand children."

"I don't trust that mad man at all. He might be the type to just enjoy having kids around to beat up. I'll be able to handle him." He'll make sure to finish the man next time if he ever decides to try anything.

"It's likely he isn't as stupid as the others think. Regardless of his stance on children or his reasons, that man was able to lie to Doflamingo. Be careful, Law."

"I know." He also knows it shouldn't be easy to accept a warning from someone he's known about as long as the people being warned about, but it is.

Another thought is that there are some things about Nico Robin and Doflamingo that are very similar unlikely as it may seem. They're both very knowledgeable, seem extremely capable, and look at him as though they actually see something—even sought him out. He isn't quite sure if they see the same thing though,  _ whatever it is they're looking for. _

"You know, Doflamingo mentioned something very similar to what you told me about Devil Fruits. He says that it all depends on my luck." He gives a humorless chuckle. Luck. "I have no expectations about getting cured or living longer. But I've always wondered." Swallows. Forces himself to continue because if anyone could finally give him an answer, it might be her. "My… classmates, they wanted to live. They were also dying but they wanted to live out their lives. They didn't get the chance. I…" He looks down, curses his weakness. Takes a shuddering breath, and in a voice even he could barely hear, "Do you think you got lucky?"

The shame that fills him is familiar and overwhelming. He stares at a fixed spot on the ground, focuses on his breathing, holds back the stinging in his eyes, clenches his fists until his knuckles are as white as the patches on his skin.

Bad luck. Good luck. Blessing. Curse. There is a wish that he does not give voice to because he couldn't dare disrespect the memory of those faces encouraging him to live.

It shouldn't have been him.  _ He doesn't deserve it. _

At least they don't have to suffer any more.  _ But he does. _

Anyone else would have been able to live meaningfully, contently.  _ He can't. Maybe he does deserve it after all. _

He blinks and idly notes that his vision has become blurry. There is a hand sprouting out from the ground beside him gently tapping his clenched hand—tentative, barely a touch—and a voice softly calling out, "Law." He looks up and realizes that she must've been calling his attention for a while now. Her eyes are sad and suspiciously shiny.

He uses his other arm to wipe at his eyes, not at all gentle. 

"I'm sorry." He isn't sure what she's sorry for. "I also don't know the answer to that. Luck, regardless of its type, is based on odds. You and I…" Her voice is a bit shaky and her hand doesn't leave his though they've stilled, just the tips of three fingers resting lightly on his knuckles. "We…have lived through near impossible odds. The question of whether good or bad, perhaps the answer could only be found by soldiering on."

It isn't an exact answer but it is honest. Not anything that could silence all his doubts. But perhaps nothing truly can.

There is silence spent in contemplation until eventually he is able to speak again. 

Looking at the hand on top of his, he asks, "Could you tell me more about your devil fruit powers? What else can you do?"

* * *

That night, he asks Doflamingo about Nico Robin. As expected, the man knows more than his subordinates, knows the truth behind the entire affair. He talks about the Poneglyphs and how useful of an ability being able to read them is. How much power and control anyone can amass if they have the only person who is able to read them.

Suddenly, he doesn't think it's a good idea for her to join anymore. 

* * *

They are at the same spot as the day before, except he remains standing and she's still just a face on a metal beam.

"I've thought about what you said about joining and—"

"I don't think you should. I think you should stay far away from the pirates." She looks shocked. Shocked enough to not be able to hide it before her look becomes cold.

"I see." She had never worn that look around him before but he just knows it's probably the one she usually wears. It doesn't look right.

"You are free." Her eyes go wide again and she blinks at him.

"Hunted down, sure. But you are free and you have a dream." He looks at her intently, trying to convey what he means even if he himself doesn't know what it is exactly. 

He doesn't understand how her dream doesn't involve destruction or maybe he could but he refuses to. "Go fulfill your dream." And maybe that is the best revenge to have. Living her life and pursuing the things her home got destroyed for. He is a tool now. Existence for Doflamingo to be used. That's better than he could have ever hoped to have. Better a tool than nothing. A tool has use. It wasn't worthless. His life still had meaning. He's less than human but more than nothing. She's different though. She could have something to live for—could still find something to hope for.

She studies him for a bit and smiles another one of her small smiles. "Alright. I won't join the pirates." A weight is lifted off his chest. "And I will fulfill all of my dreams." This time it is her giving him an intent look, tone meaningful.

At his confused look, she adds, "I have more than one dream. The other one I was beginning to think more impossible than the other."

He waits for her to elaborate. She doesn't. Just smiles that mysterious smile, as though she's hiding a really good secret. Alright.

"Good for you."

She laughs. Clear and happy.

"I almost gave it up, you know. I'm glad I didn't. I'm really close, I think."

He doesn't really understand but it isn't a bad feeling.

He takes out the piece of paper in his pocket. It has marks of a crude drawing erased with a series of numbers and letters at the bottom. She is eyeing it curiously as he tucks it between the ground and the crate near him.

"If you ever end up near the area, you could come by and I could help you if you need to know anything." He scowls. By now, he doesn't have to look to know that she is amused. He could practically feel it on her gaze.

"You'll be seeing me soon enough." Definitely amused.

Resigned, he adds, "You could even tell me if you've gotten that dream you're really close to." Wryly, "If I'm still alive by then, of course."

"You will be." He tries to ignore how that definitely sounded like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have more of the sad children, we're moving away from Spider Miles, and Law respects maybe at least two people.
> 
> The alternative title of this chapter is "Chapter 3 - Draft 5" I went through five versions of this chapter all of them have different things going on. All of them roughly the same length...
> 
> Anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one.
> 
> If anyone ever wants to talk, feel free to drop a comment or message me on Tumblr: op-sheepy.tumblr.com


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